Simple Man
by Shadow Goat Alice
Summary: THTJB - John Sheppard helps an old friend move into a new place. It's not exactly fancy but it is cheap.
1. Chapter 1

**Part one of my Ronon stories THTJB AU.**

**Chapter One**

**Simple Man**

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John Sheppard carried a box through the open bay door, setting it down on the concrete floor. "You sure this is what you want to do, man?" He asked brows lifted as his attention traveled around the brick interior of the industrial shop space.

"Yeah, Dude, it's going to be good," Ronon Dex assured, lifting another box over the side of his old Jimmy. "Besides, how can I beat the price?"

That was true; it was challenging to beat rent-free, but still. "I've heard about bringing your work home with you, but isn't the saying, "don't shit where you eat?"

Ronon smiled faintly, holding the other man's skeptical gaze as he made his way toward him. "I'm not sure that pertains here, bro."

John already knew that but didn't say as much. "You know you can stay with me, right?"

"What are you worried about? I made this choice, " Ronon said, placing the box he carried down on top of the one John had just set down. "I can save more money, and I can't afford to rent a place with a garage and house and still keep anything. Plus, all I have to do in return is work on bikes. It's going to be great." He did have other money from before, but he was going to need it when he opened his own business.

"You know this ain't going to get you your girl, right? " Sheppard inquired next.

Ronon scoffed, grabbing two beers from the six-pack sitting on top of the old mini-fridge plugged into the wall. He set one down on a stack of boxes pulling his bottle opener from his pocket; he opened one of the bottles. "She isn't mine, dude." Rhea Mikkelson was a lot of things, bitchy and abrasive being among them, but his girl she was not. Though he also realized, if she ever stopped, he might change his mind, but he would never admit that to the other man. Those flashing green eyes of hers almost made riling her up worth it, however.

"If you say so," John said, doubt heavy in his voice. He took a drink of the beer Ronon had handed him, watching as the younger man opened his bottle. If the two could ever get past hurling insults, they might have something. A real connection was rare, but hell, what did John know. He had it once, but it hadn't been enough; in the end, it had ended in a horrendous divorce. Though, for a while there, she had driven him crazy in another way. They had been magic.

Then there was the other one with eyes that shifted from green to gold depending on her mood. Something told John there would be some magic there also, but she was an entirely different matter. "What did you ever do to the girl anyway?"

"Fucked if I know, man." He didn't know why she disliked him so much, all he had done was be nice.

"So, I guess we will watch any games at my place then?" John observed his attention drifting to the battered old recliner and the empty telephone wire spool sitting in front of it. The former was actually identical to the one Fraisers dad had on Frasier, if John remembered correctly. He would ask if Ronon planned on replacing the furnishings left by someone else at some other time, but the younger man was happy he didn't have to worry about it. "I can get your, eh, living room set fumigated as a housewarming gift, I suppose," John offered.

Ronon laughed as he stepped back through the open doorway, after his rucksack and guitar, he left in the back seat. He was fully aware, Sheppard thought he shouldn't keep the furniture. Ronon slung his bag over his shoulder then lifted the old Gibson out of the backseat. "Nah, I got some raid," he dismissed, even though he hadn't. "I thought you were here to help me anyway, " Ronon began as he headed back inside, "not stand around drinking my beer."

"I am helping," John said with a nod of his head. "I'm doing the supervising," he finished innocently.

"Here I thought you were just here to offer decorating tips," Ronon replied, straight-faced.

"Here's a tip; at least replace that mattress."

Oh, he had every intention. Keeping that old recliner was one thing; sleeping on that stained mattress was another, but again he kept it to himself.

Later That Night

Ronon pulled his Jimmy up in front of his shop, the noise of four barreled V-8 echoed off the buildings and into the heavy night air. Leaving his rig running and the headlights on, Ronon grabbed the door key and got out. He would park outside, but he wasn't entirely sure what sort of neighborhood this was, and he and Sheppard had taken the top off and carried it inside earlier.

Sheppard had asked Ronon if he wanted to put it back on before they left to get something to eat, and now, Ronon was wishing he had instead of listening to his growling stomach.

Ronon stepped inside and started pulling the chain to roll the overhead door up.

Once he had finished opening the door and pushed some boxes out of the way and pulled his truck inside, he went and got the box he had left in back earlier.

Ronon lifted the familiar old frame from the box; this picture had been with him nearly every step of the way since he left home almost nine years ago. It was him and two girls; his hair short, he stood between them an arm around the shoulders of each. One was tall with long blond hair and an innocent face with a big smile; the other was much shorter. The top of her head didn't even reach his shoulder, and her blond hair was darker, more like light honey, her face was fuller, and her skin kissed golden by the sun. A familiar pang echoed through his chest, like the ghost of a promise long left unfulfilled as he looked at her. They had all been so young, just babes truly.

Ronon stared at the photo for another moment before he brushed his thumb along the face of the shorter of the two. His Melena. The other girl was her half-sister Jen. He had initially liked Jen until he met her shy younger sister, and lost his heart. Melena had been two years younger than him and turned bright red whenever she saw him.

His grandfather had talked him into applying for the marine industries course offered through UTI. If he got accepted, it almost guaranteed him a job if he was willing to go anywhere, and it pretty much did anyway. It also meant he wouldn't end up working on a fishing boat or in a surf shop somewhere on the big island like most of the people he knew. Then there was Mel. Ronon had already pretty much made up his mind Mel was it for him, and this meant he would have something real to offer her. When he lost her, he'd almost lost himself. Sometimes he thanked God, Jen had been there. He had always been close to his grandpa, he respected the man more than anyone else, but even he hadn't been able to put Ronon back together again.

Jennifer Keller had just lost her baby sister and her only sibling and her best friend, but she was who put him back on his feet. She was the one who had successfully prodded him into going back to Texas to finish the Marine Mechanics program. He stayed in Texas and took a job for a company that subcontracted for the navy at the Naval Air Station at Corpus Christi for almost five years.

When he had eventually decided to leave Corpus Christi, Jen had been there again. After Mel's death, her parent's relationship disintegrated; her dad took her and left the islands. They'd moved back east where Jen's dad originally lived. Jen had been concerned when he told her he was leaving his job, but Ronon had needed a change. He wasn't so confident; it was the life he wanted anymore. Ronon had thought about making his way to Alaska or maybe Washington state eventually. First, he had wandered back to Wisconsin and visited Jen and her dad for a bit. When he ultimately headed out West again, he hadn't made it farther than Colorado. He had initially come because he got a short term job working with a welding crew, another trade UTI had taught him. He had never seen mountains like the Rockies before, and there was something very appealing about the closest ocean being a sea of yellow grass directly to the east.

Really, he stayed because it had felt like home.

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**Thanks for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my oc and her story.**

_**AN:**_ **_warning: there is a description of actual World War Two violence. Opening was written by the amazing Mini_Goat!_**

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**Chapter Two**

**Rocky Road**

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Ronan flipped stations until he found something that wasn't mostly static. Thirty-four-inch steel-belted radials humming against the Colorado pavement seemed to be the only tune that wanted to play for a while now. Trying to get a decent station driving around the mountains was challenging when you didn't like talk radio or church music. He settled on a country station which, while not his taste, was better than some church lady telling him he was going to hell.

Twenty four meandered through the mountains leisurely like a bored elk. The scenery changed little from turn to turn. Seder trees, some Fir, lots of rocks. Scrub. Ocher red and cool greens and the vast cloud scuttled Colorado sky for his company, and Lynn Anderson belting out Rose Garden.

Ronan's green GMC huffed a little at the exertion as he rounded a corner on an incline, and he absently adjusted the gears lower accordingly to add some needed torque. He'd debated about putting the top up, but the day was unusually balmy for late spring, so he'd left the rag top stowed. She seemed to be handling the trailer fairly well, even if she was chugging a little. He wondered if his buddy weighed the rear axle down with rocks under the bed and chuckled at his random thoughts.

His eyes trailed to his recent acquisitions, a dual-speed lathe, and a planer joiner he'd gotten at a woodworking trade show from an old guy that was retiring from the business. The guy had given him a great price and shared some war stories, as well. He wasn't so sure he would pass these ones on to Shep. Sheppard was always willing to listen to the old guys at the VA for hours, but these stories felt far too personal like Ronon would be breaking a confidence.

Movement on the side of the road caught his eye. A lithe form in dark red leathers stood by a well cared for vintage Indian shaking her finger at it and clearly scolding it for whatever was wrong. A tool kit lay on the ground next to her.

Ronan checked the empty road behind him to make sure he wasn't going to scare the shit out of any soccer moms and slowed to a stop several feet behind the woman who was now sitting on the ground cross-legged, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth as she meticulously taped something.

He got out and held his large hands up in supplication. "Can I give you a hand?" He asked her.

Sam looked up at the gruff voice that was attached to a large native-looking man wearing dreads and a red flannel plaid shirt and faded Carhartt jeans with one of the double knees missing and some fraying at the bottoms of the legs. "I'm good, but thanks." She told him with a shrug.

"Having problems with your bike?"

"Just making some minor adjustments to its attitude," she said and blew her shaggy blond bangs out of her eyes.

Ronan watched her work for a little bit. He didn't know her, so he got why she might be wary. "Looks like you are trying to tape a busted line."

"Great guess." She said simply in spite of the caustic response, and Ronan grinned.

"That's not going to hold for more than a couple miles. Why don't I give you a ride back into town to a bike shop."

"A bike shop is why I'm sitting on the road repairing her," Sam said savagely and started putting her tool kit away.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Probably not their fault. My idiot boyfriend thought he was doing me a favor getting her tuned up by one of his buddies."

"Not your usual shop?"

"She hasn't seen a shop in years." Sam stood and packed away her tool kit.

"That's not good for her, you know."

Sam barked a laugh. "I handle her maintenance myself. She's a classic and doesn't deserve some auto mechanic pawing her."

"Ouch." Ronan told her with a chuckle. "There's a parts distributor on the edge of the Springs, let me drive you there, and you can fix her properly." He suggested.

"You aren't going to leave until I go with you, are you?"

"We're in the middle of nowhere, and if that patch doesn't hold, it will be dark long before you get back into town. Coyotes love the dark."

Sam huffed and hunched her shoulders. He looked honest enough. His truck was consistent with his appearance. Faded army green paint, black wheels, stowed rag top. The road noise would eliminate the need to talk. Sam was not an idle chatter. "What's on your trailer?"

"A Lablond dual-drive lathe and a Craftsman planer joiner." He said proudly of his newest toys.

"Woodworker, huh?

"Something like that. Want me to load her, or are you afraid I'll scratch her?" He said, waving at her Indian.

Sam sighed. He wasn't wrong. Her patch might hold all the way back, or it might blow out in two miles, and ditching her on a rocky Colorado burm would be bad for the bike and her shins. "All right. I'll push, you pull."

"Great." His rumbly voice was affable.

"So, What kind of woodworking do you do?" Sam wasn't interested in idle chatter, but the radio had cut out again, and the only station they could find was a Christian rock station. They looked at each other in horror then quickly turned it off.

"Furniture mostly. I sculpt a little."

"Freelance?"

"For now. I don't really like working for people. They generally don't like employing me either." He admitted but grinned, though as far as bosses went, Jeanie Miller was better than most. Certainly far better than her brother.

Sam chuckled.

They rode in silence for a while.

"So what's your story other than a sweet ride and a boyfriend that's an idiot."

Sam shrugged. "Physics student."

"That's a pretty hefty major, " he said with a nod.

"For a girl." She said with disgust.

"For anyone. I use geometry all day, quite a bit of trig, too, but I can only wrap my mind around the idea of fractals, not how they work."

"You're familiar with Mandelbrot sets?" she asked him in surprise.

"Would you believe I learned about them reading Piers Anthony novels?" He asked her with amusement.

"The Phaze books?" She said. "It's a pretty good introduction for a beginner. He explains it in lay terms really well."

"Yah, well, I tried to look up the math and got immediately lost, so if you can do that stuff, you're way smarter than me."

Sam grinned and shook her head. "You create art. It's just a different kind of smart. I can't draw at all."

Ronan gave her a speculative look. She wasn't his type, but he liked her as a person. Too bad, she was already dating someone. "See now you are just being nice because you don't want to pay me gas money." He joked.

"You were already going this way." She observed.

"See, you're smarter than me," he said, laughing.

Sam grinned and tried the radio again. She found a hard rock station playing Whitesnake belting out Still of the Night.

Ronan bobbed his head along and laughed when Sam grinned at his dreads bouncing around his head.

"Any chance you can take me to Action Cycle? They should have the parts I need," Sam told him.

Ronan seemed to think about it for a bit. "Sure." He'd planned on taking her to whichever shop she wanted, but ACL was on his way to the shop.

"Thanks. It's on Delta Drive off Hancock." She supplied.

Ronan chuckled. "I know where they are."

"Ok." She said.

"I've moved around a lot. It pays to familiarize yourself with your new environment."

"That sounds very military."

"Nope. Just a hobo." He told her with an amused shrug.

Sam looked at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or not.

Black Hole Sun came on the radio, and they were entertained to find both of them were singing along to it. Towards the end of the song, though, they rounded the corner onto Delta and pulled into the shop.

"Thanks for the ride," she offered, flashing him those blues again.

"No problem. It was nice to have a little company on the way back." He admitted. "I'll help you get your bike down."

"Thanks. What do I owe you for gas?"

"Nothing. I was headed this way already." He admitted, and she laughed. Ronan found himself smiling with her. She really was adorable.

Ten minutes later, with the help of a couple of guys that came outside, curious about the situation, her bike was off his trailer and on the pavement in front of the shop.

"Hope your afternoon goes better." Ronan shook his head. "I never got your name."

"Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Ronan."

"Nice meeting you, Ronan."

"Well, I'd better get going," Ronan said and put his hand out to shake hers.

Sam grinned and shook his hand then watched him drive off, his trailer rattling behind him.

"Nice fella." The shop clerk told her.

Sam nodded.

XxX

Ronon watched the trailer in his rearview mirror as he made the turn onto the street Sheppard's apartment building was on. Ronon had just decided to come to find his friend after he dropped the blond off with her bike. Ronon was supposed to call John once he got back, but the original plan was for Sheppard to go with him to the trade show. The older man had canceled yesterday, making an excuse about needing to help Liz move something. A couch or something. Ronon stopped by in person just to make sure; John wasn't still _moving _her furniture.

When he had left for the trade fair in Granite, he had been hoping to come back with a lathe. The planer and the old guy who had it were both unexpected. The man with salt and pepper hair had been there the day they stormed the beaches of Sicily and with Patton when they went about the dead, bloody work of taking the mountain town of Troina and then marched into Messina. The man said they'd been loaded onto boats in England and told nothing about where they were going until they were handed books titled "Welcome to Sicily." It was a guide to language and some other aspects of Sicilian customs and a hard way to grow up. The man said he had been a boy the day he was loaded onto the boats sent to take troops to shore, but never again.

Ronon had seen similar books before; he actually had the Japanese phrasebook his grandfather had been given before they invaded Japan. He also knew his grandfather had been different after the war.

Ronon had not known much about the European campaigns besides D-day. The Italian and German forces had barricaded the streets of Troina with dead bodies because they'd known the Allied Troops would never drive over them. Ronon hadn't thought much about that after he picked up his tall blond hitchhiker and her bike.

He pulled into a parking lot a few buildings down from Sheppard's parked and made his way toward his friends. He had no more than getting off the third-floor elevator, and he heard them before he rounded the corner. The sound of a door closing and laughter that made his ears strain a little harder, a shot of what he wasn't ever really sure ran through him. Maybe it was recognition of a challenge, whether intentional or otherwise. Jennifer Keller would have a whole lot to say about him acting like a "Neanderthal and the size of his ego" and inform him that not every woman instantly wanted him, and then point out that Rhea might really not like him. Ronon was pretty sure she really didn't like him, but that only made him want to irritate her more.

Ronon stepped around the corner, seeing her making her way down the hall, with Graham Simmons, her almost constant companion these days. Her long dark hair was pulled back in twin French braid like usual; sunglasses rested on top of her head. She had on a short Nike t-shirt, and glossy tie-dyed leggings. Simmons was dressed in basketball shorts, and all he could assume was they were off to go hiking or something else they did in their spare time.

He could have just kept going and given her a polite nod if she looked at him at all. He usually would; despite his earlier thoughts, he didn't always feel the need to get under her skin, and even when he did, he would try to ignore it. He was a guy, however, and she was far from unattractive even with that acidic tongue of hers, but there was something about her and pretty boy when their heads were bent together like right now, that irritated him.

Ronon stopped, leaning his shoulder against the wall, his attention passed over Simmons briefly before it returned to her, he waited for her to notice him. He finally spoke anyway when she was only a few feet away. "If it ain't my little rae of sunshine," he said, knowing how much she hated it when he said that to her. "Little man, " Ronon said to the younger man, never breaking eye contact with Rhea.

"Oh me?" Ronon said, with an exaggerated touch to his chest. "I'm good. I'm picking Sheppard up, how are you?" he finished as though she had asked when she said nothing.

Scoffing softly, her green eyes flat, she said, "Don't let me stop you."

She folded her arms over narrow chest, staring up at him.

"It's kinda hard: you're in my way, " Ronon said with a measuring look, tucking in his chin, his eyes twinkling. In truth, she wasn't in his way at all.

"Maybe, you should move."

Ronon straightened up and folded his arms over his chest, making his flannel pull tightly across his shoulders.

"Here's a thought. Maybe you should try being nice, Rae."

She visibly bristled at the use of her nickname.

"Do I need to put you two in time out?" a familiar voice interjected before Rhea had a chance to respond.

"Children?" John Sheppard said when neither responded to his question.

Still holding her gaze, Ronon waited, knowing she wouldn't look away first. "Nah, we're peachy, aren't we, Rae?"

Sheppard had just left his apartment to get the mail, not at all expecting to find a Ronon or a standoff in the hallway. Ronon was supposed to call him when he got back to town but he could honestly say neither really surprised him either. These two existed in a perpetual state of loggerheads.

"Why don't you train your pet, " she said scathingly.

Ronon smiled broadly as those green eyes of hers burned even brighter. It was on the tip is his tongue to suggest she could try training him if she thought he needed it, but he didn't. He held her gaze for a moment longer before he looked at Sheppard.

"S'up?" Ronon asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as she stared at him for another moment.

John looked from his friend to Rhea and then back. "I thought you were going to call?"

"I was, just didn't want Liz to have something else for you to move," he said wiggling his eyebrows.

She made a noise that made suspiciously like a low growl and walked away.

Johns's attention followed her as she walked off with Simmons, the younger man looked concerned. "See ya, Rhea, " John called.

"Great, guilt by association," Sheppard said, looking up at Ronon. "You know one of these days she's gonna deck you, right?"

Ronon laughed, looking over his shoulder to find a pair of green eyes doing the same, just as she disappeared around the corner.

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**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

X

**Chapter Three**

**Van Morrison, Van Gogh, and a Cinnamon Roll**

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Rhea was all for supporting local business, but the bitch behind the counter in this particular one was in about the same place on her list as Ronon Dex at this moment.

The former seemed to have an over-inflated opinion of her own self-worth for a paint store employee. The latter also had a high view of himself with an ego the size of Lake Michigan and about as many feet deep as well. He also made her silently question why she didn't just buy a coffee maker rather than going to Jaffa Java as much as she did.

Maybe she should direct him here, he and Red would make a great couple.

Rhea had to check herself when she wanted to say, "You are aware you just work in a paint store, right." Instead, Rhea said, "Just the two gallons of white."

The woman with hair a shade of red Rhea was pretty certain wasn't natural, smiled at Graham. Her suggestive eyes were drifting down his body. "How about you, sweety? Is there….." Her words trailed off as though she weighed them carefully, "something else I can do for you?"

Graham blushed hotly, tugging at his collar.

"We're good," Rhea said, her attention dropped to the redhead's name tag. She purposely misread it. "Hath Whore is it?"

The redhead's eyes narrowed, and she corrected. "Hathor. As in the love goddess."

It was on the tip of Rhea's tongue to say, "I assume your parents had a sense of humor," but she didn't. If there was one thing, Rhea couldn't stand, it was people who found themselves superior to everyone else. Rhea could also point out that her name could be found in mythology as well but didn't. Usually, someone like Miss Hath Whore wouldn't get under Rhea's skin; she had Ronon Dex to thank for her current mood. Sometimes all it took was meeting that infuriatingly and perpetually amused hazel gaze for her to be angry.

Rhea smiled and simply said, "Oh, nice."

Her grandmother always said when dealing with people like the redhead; you should smile from the teeth out; it confuses them. Too bad, she couldn't achieve the same thing with her other problem.

The slightly older woman's eyes turned sharp, and she scrutinized Rhea for a minute as she put the paint cans in the mixing machine.

Rhea continued to smile innocently, holding her gaze.

"What else do you need, Rae?" Graham asked as he stepped back from the counter, pulling Rhea's attention away from the other woman.

"Paintbrushes, rollers, paint pan," trailing off for a moment before she added, "Plastic, nearly everything." She could just use the drop cloths she usually used, but the bedroom her cousin would be occupying had carpets like Rhea's bedroom and the living room. Rhea often painted in the dining area, so she didn't have to worry about the carpet or on the balcony when the weather was nice. Though on the drier summer days, the air dried her paint faster than she liked.

They moved across the off-white linoleum tiles to the aisle with paintbrushes in it.

"When is…" Graham's words trailed off as he tried to remember her cousin's name, "Jenny?"

Rhea held his green eyes, nodding. She then started studying the pegs of brushes hanging on the wall.

"When is she getting here?"

Selecting a couple of decently bristled brushes, she said, "Two weeks."

Rhea passed the brushes to Graham and moved on to the rolls of painters plastic a bit further down the aisle.

Graham nodded, taking the large roll of plastic from Rhea and gave her back the brushes. "What is she like?"

Rhea let out a long breath. How to describe Jenny Hailey? She loved her younger cousin; she had always been Rhea's favorite. Rhea had babysat Jenny a lot before she left Detroit, but even then, Jenny tended to be difficult unless she felt challenged or continuously stimulated. She had grown bored quickly in school with the curriculum and with things like coloring books and crayons, and Lincoln Logs but would spend hours making the most exciting things out of Rhea's old Erector Sets.

"She is a kid genius." Rhea shrugged. Her aunt made sure Rhea knew how difficult Jenny could be before Rhea said yes.

"Did you ask the manager about painting the room?"

"I did. He said to be careful and make sure I had everything covered up." He had also said to have it put on the building's account but had no interest in doing it himself. At first, Rhea had thought it was because he had other things to do. Now she questioned if it wasn't the woman behind the counter.

The latter was seeming more and more likely.

**XxX**

"So, are you going to try and open up a store?" Aiden Ford asked.

Ronon leaned back in his chair, beer in hand, nodding to the waitress as she put his steak on the table in front of him. "Eventually, if everything goes well," he confirmed with a nod, setting his beer down. "But first things first. There is an artisan fair in Denver in August I plan to go to."

After they'd offloaded the stuff off of the trailer, they stood around talking. Ford and Sheppard had helped bring some empty crates down from the loft and helped Ronon move the new mattress and box spring he bought yesterday up there. Sheppard hadn't seemed anymore convinced Ronon's choice of place to live made sense, though he had admitted the loft had more potential than the windowless back room. Ronon had offered to take them out to dinner before he took them home, so he found himself at O'Malley's.

"Don't you already have some pieces in one of those places in the Old City?" John asked.

Ronon nodded. "Yup." It was one of those places that catered mostly to tourists or the more wealthy. So far, he had sold a set of heavy hand-carved accent chairs.

"So whatever happened with the rocking horse?" Sheppard asked next.

Ronon's eyes twinkled as they held Sheppard's. "I plan to start working on it in the next few days." He had bought some books and collected what he needed. He was waiting for the glass eyes and real horsehair for the mane and tail to come in.

Sheppard nodded, not surprised his friend had taken the commission. Sheppard's eyes twinkled in response. "How hot was she again?"

Ronons brows lifted. The redhead that had met him at Jaffa Java to discuss the idea was certainly attractive enough if you liked a woman who made what she wanted obvious. She had all but told him if he did a good enough job, he could have a ride on her in payment.

"Wait, what am I missing?" Ford asked, swallowing the steak in his mouth.

"Princess, here, had some kinky chick ask him to make her an adult-sized rocking horse for her boudoir."

"She never said it was for the bedroom."

"Adult-sized?" Aiden asked.

Ronon laughed. "Not adult-size for just anyone. One that she can sit on."

"So, how hot was she?" Aiden asked himself, interest piqued.

"She definitely wasn't difficult to look at, but I prefer a woman who is a bit more of a challenge or at least less obvious. If you want to know what she looks like, she owns that interior paint store a few blocks from your apartment."

"Really?" Ford asked the fork he held frozen inches from his lips.

"Yeah, you can stop by and let her know I should be starting work on her horse in the next couple days, if you want," Ronon offered.

Sheppard watched Ronon as he chewed his own piece steak. "It must be nice to have so many women interested in you that you can pass some out to friends," John observed, amused. The opposite sex did seem to find the scruffy Samoan attractive, and age didn't seem to matter. It wasn't just women, either John reminded himself. Ronon had gotten his shop space rent-free, or basically, all he had to do was work on a few bikes in his spare time.

"Shit, dude, you should have seen the girl I picked up today," Ronon said before John could say anymore. Ronon had intended to tell John about her sooner, but then he'd seen Rhea, and she had been the only thing on his mind. Drawing her attention away from Graham Simmons had been his single thought. For reasons, Ronon knew better than to contemplate seeing Rhea and Graham together irritated him.

"And?" Sheppard asked, impatiently, drawing Ronon away from his thoughts.

"If you'd come with me instead of playing with Liz, I wouldn't have to tell you about her."

"Wait, exactly what do you mean picked her up?" Aiden asked.

"She was broken down on the side of the road."

**Later That Night**

Sheppard peeked through the crack in Rhea's door. He hadn't intended to stop tonight, but her door was ajar, and he could hear music through it. Sheppard had planned to stop by and see at some point over the next day or two. He rapped softly on the door casing.

"Come in," she called from inside.

Sheppard pushed the door open and stepped inside. "You know you should never leave your door open or just holler, 'come in'."

Perched on a stool in front of her easel a few feet away, face and hands smudged with chalk; Rhea smiled at him. "Awe, John Sheppard, I never knew you cared. But in case you didn't know, I live just down the hall from a couple of police officers."

Sheppard smiled and nodded; he would concede that the building was pretty secure. Pretty much everyone who lived here was a student, and there wasn't any riff-raff. Even if some showed up, Jack would put them on the road. "You should still be more careful, Rae."

She gave him a smile that said, her door would probably be ajar tomorrow as well, and he would probably mention it again.

"Van Morrison," Sheppard observed, letting the subject go. His attention traveled to the old record player sitting against the wall in the living room, playing Brown Eyed Girl. Old album covers covered the majority of the wall behind it. A papasan chair sat nearby, a stack of tumbled books on the floor beside it. You could find everything on that wall from nearly all The Beatles albums, including Revolver and Abbey Road, to Led Zeppelin's Mothership and Led Zeppelin III, ZZ Top Sharp Dressed Man, to the Stones, Ozzy, and Sabbath. Iron Maiden, The Doors, even Elton John's Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and REO Speedwagon as well. There was even a Beastie Boys or two in there. Many of them were her father's old records. John had personally given her the Frank Zappa Mothers of Invention and the Jailbreaker-Thin Lizzy jacket's to add to her collection.

"Yeah," Rhea said, as she made her way toward the record player and shut it off. "What's up?"

"Just making sure we're okay?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" Rhea asked, confused as she settled back onto her stool.

"Earlier."

Rhea sighed heavily. "Oh, you mean, Ronon?"

"Yeah."

She smiled at John. "Yeah, he's an asshat, but I'm not mad at you."

"That's good to know," John said. "So what's this," he asked, lifting his chin toward the chalk covered paper clipped to the easel.

Rhea sighed again, more dramatically this time, her shoulders slumped forward. "Well… that's a good question. My professor wanted me to explore the technique and subject matter of an artist I don't care for then reimagine their work."

"Oh, oh, I see," John said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "And this is it?" John asked of the smudges, swirls of the blurry mess of bright yellow and dark blue on her paper. "It's," he tilted his head to the side as he went on, "nice?"

Rhea laughed. "I don't think I like you."

John smile back at her. "Really, though, what is it?"

"It's Van Gogh."

"Yeah, sure, now I see it," John said like he had just had an epiphany. He lifted his hand, twirling his finger. "That looks like his swirly sky. Wasn't he a painter?"

"Yeah, I'm just trying with other mediums."

"Maybe you should redo it like one of your album covers," he offered thoughtfully. After a brief pause, he asked, "You sure Cassie or Teal'c's boy didn't do this?"

Rhea's smile grew at the uncertainty in his eyes. "Oh, my God, get out of my apartment," she said, standing.

Holding his hands up in supplication, John said, "I had to ask."

Rheas' brows lifted. "Remember who brings you fresh eggs," she warned, pointing the chalk in her hand at him.

"You know I'm just messing with you." John said. "You sure we're good, kid?"

"We're good."

John paused at the doorway, turning back around. "I don't think he means to.." John's words trailed off; he knew Ronon liked to rile her up for a fact. "Don't take it personally. Ronon doesn't always play well with others." John offered, expecting this had more to do with Graham's presence with her than just ruffling Rhea's tail feathers. "But if you really want to screw with him, try being nice. He wouldn't know what to do."

Rhea smiled at him, only half-listening to his advice; her imagination had taken hold of his album cover suggestion.

He closed the door softly as he stepped outside. Rhea ripped the paper off her easel, crumbling it up as she got up and grabbed her sketch pad. She made her way to the living room, sitting down on the floor in front of her album cover collection.

**Three Days Later**

Rhea paused on the sidewalk outside of Jeanie Miller's coffee shop; a long plastic tube containing her latest work, tucked under her arm, she looked through the window. Early morning sunshine highlighted her reflection in the pristinely clean glass. The dark wayfarer sunglasses on her face hid exactly what held her gaze from anyone who saw her. He was there, like she knew he would be, waiting on a short blonde whose smile couldn't get much bigger. Irritation instantly slid down Rhea's spine as she watched the girl beam up at him and the way Ronon leaned against the counter. She reminded herself Sheppard suggested she be nice to him. She had had every intention, but now she wasn't even sure she could pull off indifference, let alone being friendly.

She was also very aware that she had been avoiding him the last few days, though she could hardly admit it to herself. Something else she refused to think about was the slight fluttering she had felt in her stomach when she heard that rough voice of his say "my little Rae of Sunshine" and looked up to find him standing there staring at her. Of course, he was talking, so he ruined it.

Though maybe she should be thankful he was talking, it helped remind her why he was a bad idea.

Shoving the thoughts aside, Rhea squared her shoulders, irritated with herself, and refusing to be bothered by the Neanderthal inside the coffee shop any longer.

She had stopped by late yesterday afternoon to get coffee, and she and Jeanie had been talking about Rhea's latest project. She had shown Jeanie some rough sketches she had, and the other woman wanted Rhea to bring it by when she finished it.

Rhea grabbed the doorknob stepping inside. Rhea smiled at one of the waitresses as the girl made her way to a window seat, a cup of coffee in hand. Rhea stepped up to the back of the line.

Ronon had seen her before she stepped inside. Let's face it. He had been watching for her here and at the comic book store over the last few days. Not that he would admit that he was to anyone else. He had made her mad before, but this time felt different, however. He didn't know why it mattered. She was such a snobby infuriating little thing; he really shouldn't even give her a second look. But that first day he had seen her about a year and a half ago he had. He had not been able not to give a second look. She had smiled at him when he handed her her order. She had been covered in paint, a smudge of bright red on her cheek, and spattered in her hair. "You've got a little something," he had said, gesturing to his cheek in about the right place. She had given him a bright, somewhat mischievous grin and said, "Imagine that," then winked at him. Over the next few weeks, they had gotten along well, better than well really then she just changed.

"White Mocha?" Ronon asked as she stepped up to the counter, meeting her green eyes. He braced for her response.

"Sure," she said, simply. Her attention moved quickly to the signboard listing pastries where it hung over his head.

"Double?" Ronon asked, a moment later. He examined her for a moment before he turned away.

"Single," Rhea corrected. "Whipped cream."

Ronon had to admit she was far nicer than he expected, especially after he knew he'd made her angry enough she'd stayed away this time. She usually would respond with thinly veiled contempt, especially after he had the audacity to mess with her as he had.

"Can I also have an orange and chocolate scone?" She questioned, interrupting his thoughts.

"We don't have any today," Ronon said, again surprised by her neutral tone.

Ronon opened his mouth to ask her if she wanted mints in her coffee. He knew she liked it that way. Jeanie had brought in some Andies mints yesterday; they usually just left the bowl on the counter. Ronon opened a couple, dropping them in her coffee before he put the whipped cream on top and put the cover on.

Ronon turned, handing her her cup, watching her closely. His eyes burned a little brighter as he wondered what she was playing at. "We do have fresh cinnamon rolls, almost as big as my hand," he added the latter as an incentive to see how she'd respond. She might not like him all that much, but he knew she packed a big appetite. She had eaten three chili dogs and a half a plate of ribs in one sitting at Sheppard's Super Bowl party, and she liked these cinnamon rolls. Still, any suggestion from him was normally met with boredom or impatience today that was different. For half a second, there was a slight upward twitch of her lips. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but Ronon had still seen it.

"Glazed?"

"Not all of em."

"I'll take one without the glaze."

Ronon nodded, he moved to the glass case, grabbing the tongs and pulled out one of the rolls, dropping it in a bag. She handed him a five without being asked.

"Is Jeanie in yet?" she asked as Ronon handed her her change. Rhea dropped it in the tip jar.

"Not yet."

"Let her know I will stop back by later."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


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